


Connection

by Angel Grace (angel_grace01)



Series: Into My Brother's Keeping [1]
Category: MAY Karl - Works, Winnetou - Karl May
Genre: Flowery writing style, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 13:05:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel_grace01/pseuds/Angel%20Grace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Old Shatterhand is fascinated by Winnetou's hair... and that's not all he's fascinated with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Connection

**Author's Note:**

> I appologise for the quality of this story. It's a translation of an old story of mine and I'm not quite sure I want to admit to writing something like... well, this. However, there is so little Winnetou fanfic out there, I figure even this will help. LOL!

I ran my hands through his raven locks, marveling at the silken texture. Even a hard day of riding wouldn't cause snags and knots to blemish my brother's perfect form. Winnetou, with his glowing bronze skin, strong yet lithe physique and noble carriage was the epithome of beauty. Still, it was his hair that carried the biggest fascination for me. In this, as in so many things, he indulged me. 

-<>-<>-<>-

Only a few months after our first meeting, we'd been scrubbing the grime of a day's journey from our skin when he turned to me and spoke: "My brother Sharlih finds fault in me?"

The question came out of nowhere and at first I could not answer. My friend's stricken look, there if you knew how to look past his placid countenance, quickly shook me out of my stupour. "I don't! Whatever does my brother Winnetou mean?" I was truly puzzled.

Directing his piercing gaze away from my face to some point over my shoulder, Winnetou's voice was soft as he answered: "My brother often looks at me when he believes Winnetou will not notice it. His look is one Winnetou can not understand."

I flushed crimson at my friend's, my brother's words. It was true that I'd developed the bad habit of staring at him whenever I believed myself unnoticed, but not for the reason my brother believed. Despite my embarrasement, I knew I had to explain my strange behaviour. "I ask your forgiveness, my brother. I come from a place where no man has hair like yours."

"And you find this... unacceptable?" Winnetou had grown even more quiet. For the first time in our acquaintance, the proud warrior lowered his gaze.

"NO!" I nearly yelled, startling a few birds in nearby bushes and pulling Winnetou's eyes back to my face. "No." I continued softer, "On the contrary. I find it fascinating and beautiful. I often have to stop myself from reaching out and touching your hair. I am merely embarrased because this is not acceptable behaviour." Now it was my turn to lower my eyes.

"My brother..." Winnetou's voice wasn't condemning me. His hand came into view, a leather cord dangling from between his fingers. "Do you know how to braid?"

The strange question made me look up. "Of course I know how to braid. Why..."

"Please assist me." With that, Winnetou sat down in front of me, his back towards me. 

Incapable of resisting the temptation, even if I probably had misunderstood his meaning, I carefully ran my fingers through the dark tresses in front of me. It was every bit as soft and silky as I'd immagined. Like ermine fur, it tickled my wrists. My throat constricted. This was my brother Winnetou, who would do whatever possible to give me joy. Unwilling to try his patience, I quickly brushed his hair together and separated it in three parts. Before I started, I snuck a quick peek at Winnetou's face, trying to gauge his reaction. He looked relaxed, like he too was enjoying this contact. It reassured me.

Instead of rushing, I took my time, making sure the braid was tight and smooth, as perfect as I could make it. It took some time, but Winnetou never complained. When at last, I let the long tail drop from between my fingers, he merely looked over his shoulder and said: "Thank you."

 

-<>-<>-<>-

 

This started a nearly nightly ritual whenever we were alone. For some reason, only when we were in private did we indulge.

Perhaps it was too intimate a connection between us. We would cleanse ourselves whenever possible, then Winnetou would worldlessly hand me a leather cord and sit in front of me. At first I thought he only did it to please me, but when I spoke of my reservations, he assured me he prefered to sleep with his hair bound and found the care I took pleasant. None had done so for him after his mother had passed when he was very young. The trust he showed me humbled me and I strove to never betray it.


End file.
